The few, the proud, the meek, not loud,
Who dare to run not with the crowd.
The road it narrows as you walk.
Do press on, and do not balk.

A Mother's Home

Though moon may rise, and sun may dawn,
There ain't no sunshine when she's gone.
A light had left the world that day
When my mother went away.

Certain not where now she roams,
But house has ceased to be a home.
Such greed to ask for her to stay,
'Cause all that's birthed must pass away.

This I know, but don't agree,
My mother I'd still like to see.
And have her say, "Son, later call,
I'm watching Duke play basketball!"

And how she'd cackle when they'd win.
I'd love to hear that laugh again!
Or have her look at me and see,
What I'm thinking wordlessly.

And when I'd left, she'd then explain:
"Leave that boy, he's not insane!"
But now she's gone, and there may be
No one left to vouch for me.

If not grandkids, least a wife.
But I'm not sure that is my life.
Sans marriage and sans progeny:
Mom, are you still cross with me?

Elsewhere does your spirit shine?
Do you still claim, "That boy is mine!"
Without your body, can you see
What it is we're ought to be?

Did you escape the flames of hell?
If secret, you don't have to tell.
But I've been wond'ring where you stay
Ever since you went away.

Woke

I heard a fun rumor, I heard you was woke.
And when I did hear it, I thought it a joke.
If ever I did meet a man more asleep,
I'd beg for a shovel to dig him six deep.

Relativity

There are two sides to ev'ry story:
I've only room for one.
But not the left or right beside me,
The monad came from none.

So don't you tell me he said she,
I'd really pay no mind.
I'm neither with and nor against you,
Blessed, but not with time.

My manner coarse, and less than humble
Perhaps, it's true, I'm rude.

Rough edges meet and grind together

And that's what makes them smooth.

You want to tell me right and wrong

And plead and prove your case.

If earth agrees, but Heaven not

Then time, oh what a waste!

You want to tell your side of things,

But me, I just don't care.

Agreement of the world entire

Can't free us from this snare.

The popular appeal, it comforts.

But only for a time.

And boosts the ego high and mighty

And distant from sublime.

So labor why for counterfeits

And not the real of gold?

Convincing of the human minds

Cannot release the soul.

So labor thus and duly dig

and all it comes for naught.

Will agreement of the world entire

Soothe your bones of rot?

There are two sides to ev'ry story:

I'd rather hear the one. 

Don't speak of relativity,
I'd rather cleave to none.

The future, I've seen it, it's wanting me dead.
And will not be stopping 'til dry I be bled.
And Time is most callous as follows its course.
And Age fights Disease to call dibs on my corpse.

The Company Store

I loaded my quota of six more than ten.
I asked the accountant what more I owe then?
He said my days living have added one day,
But as far as my debt, I have much left to pay! 

T'was sixteen tons loaded and nothing to show.
Saint Peter, don't call me, you know I can't go.
My burden, my toil, this fruit-empty chore,
From pledging my soul to The Company Store.

And Jesus, I love you! Yes truly, I do!
And Buddha, Confucius, Muhammad, Lao Tzu!
Your saving is precious, abstract, and sublime.
I'd follow you duly, but haven't the time.

'Fore dawn, after dusk I thus shovel this coal,
I haven't seen sun since was sixteen years old.
Eternity beckons. Too bad I'm not free.
The Company Store is the owner of me. 

The slaveowner over my world-weary soul.

At the devil's direction I shovel this coal.
My debt keeps accruing by day and by night.
My karma, I beg thee relief from this plight! 

But karma lacks mercy; it's callous, and cold,

And takes its delight from the tears of my soul.

But the Five have compassion, and point out the way.

I'd like to walk on it, but debt I must pay.

My owners take payment from anguish of soul.

But had I some currency lustrous like gold,

To persuade them to grant me some breadth of reprieve,

To earn them more nuggets and win my release.

I loaded my quota of six more than ten.

I asked the accountant what more owe I then?

He said my days living have added one day,

But as far as my debt, I can never repay.

I presented a nugget, asked, "What trade you for?"

Said, "A day of reprieve from The Company Store."

"And if day after next, I present you with two?"

"Another two days you would certain accrue."

'Cause sixteen nigh worthless, but one nugget though...

Saint Pete, don't forsake me, one day I may go.

A mission, a calling, a fruit bearing more,

That wins me release from The Company Store.

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I haven't written in a while.  I started out  with this just being a poetry cover of Sixteen Tons, but then as I was writing it, it became it's own thing entirely.

Johnny B Goode

Oh Johnny! Oh Johnny! Oh won't you be good?!
You never do aught that you ought, that you should.
There's one thing I ask that you grant, if you would...
Thus your mom named you, so Johnny B Goode!